


Simon Snow Just Having a Good October Every Year

by basilcomb



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pining, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Protective Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Rated teen for language, Simon Snow Loves Food, Simon Snow Needs a Hug, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Loves Simon Snow, idk ill add more later, im a baz kinnie and im not afraid to show it, just a tiny bit, this is my first time tagging h elp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26899291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basilcomb/pseuds/basilcomb
Summary: what it says on the tin, with the added bonus of everyone having a nice october. including you, yes you, random citizen
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. ruffled hair

**Author's Note:**

> it's just like me to start an october prompt list 8 days into october but it's f i n e  
> using prompts from creativepromptsforwriting.tumblr.com/post/630762366625316864/october-prompts-word-prompts-to-use-for-doodling

**Baz**

He ruffled my hair.

I was having a shit day, hungry, stressed out, and _thirsty_ when Simon came back to our room, looking more tired than usual after another one of his Mage’s heroic quests. So don’t blame me when I tried to pick a fight with him, I just needed _something_ familiar that moment to warm me up before I could go hunt and steal some late dinner, so I wouldn’t go absolutely mad and drain him dry, probably.

“You look like shit, Snow, is it goblin faeces or just a dog’s?” And the git didn’t respond! So, of course, I tried again, louder this time. “Oi, did the tittelmims get stuck in your eardrums again?” He mutters, or growls, something back, but I can’t tell what the Hel it is, and by the looks of it he can’t as well. Doesn’t bother to repeat himself, either. “Got your voice stolen, oh Chosen One?” I’m almost shouting now, realising too late that _it’s way too early for that one_. He still doesn’t respond.

My frustration ( _why won’t he just say_ something) drowns out any remorse I, for a fleeting moment, felt for that last comment, and I’m about to say, shout something else stupid and aggressive and _why do I keep treating the boy I’m in love with like this? Maybe if you stopped being such a dick, you could be friends, maybe you could make him like you, maybe you wouldn’t have to be in so much pain all the time_ when he ruffles. My fucking. Hair.

“Whatever Baz, shut up and let me sleep.” It’s only 8 pm, really.

Understandably, my brain stops functioning, body freezes, and the place where his fingers _just a second ago, it feels like it was years ago_ touched my scalp grows hot with whatever little blood I had left in me after my very lush dinner of 7 rats last night.

By the time I’m present enough to focus my eyes, he’s already asleep. Was I out of it for so long he managed to shower? No, wait, he’s still in his clothes (which _are_ actually quite dirty and smell funky). Couldn’t even bother to get under the _blankets_ the poor soul, what kind of quests does his adoptive father send him on when he’s a literal kid, he’s just boy, he’s only six-fucking-teen.

I take a breath I didn’t realise I was holding for far too long, trying to keep them deep and slow like Daphne taught me, in through the nose… and out through the mouth. In… and out. In… and out. In…

Simon seems to be asleep now. He’s breathing, too shallow for my liking, but breathing steady enough. I should really go hunt now before I join his ranks of sleeping-in-my-clothes-on-the-blankets-instead-of-under-them, so I stand up. For some reason ( _you know why_ _—_ _no I don’t, shut up, shut_ up) I can’t make myself move towards our door, not before I do something about that damn blanket. Creeping towards him (without making a noise, the privileges of being a vampire), I stop to check whether he really is asleep once I’m close enough to see each individual piece of his normal, average, stupid eyelashes, just in case he decided to trick me. Just a safety precaution, what if he follows me again? Last year was bad enough as it is, and I don’t want to make this one worse.

He’s asleep.

**Simon**

As much as I wish I was asleep right now, my body is on fire. Maybe I broke every single bone in my body today. Does that mean I wouldn’t have to go anywhere, doing things? I’d like that. Just do nothing for a little while. Maybe 3 days. That’d be nice.

I hear some rustling, and it stops as soon as it started. Oh, that’s Baz, probably. I really hope it’s Baz, and not—

I can feel his breathing on me, it’s cold. What does he want? Didn’t I ask to leave me alone? 

Oh. Oh.

He—he’s putting a blanket over me. He can’t quite cover me with it since I’m lying on one of the halves, but it’s… why is he doing this again?

I think I feel something, someone touch my hair, but it’s gone so quickly and a moment later I hear Baz shut the door with a little less force than he usually does, than he should be after being such a prick not even 5 minutes ago.

I don’t remember how I fall asleep, but I wake up in no less pain than I was in yesterday, after what feels like no more than 2 hours. The windows are open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realise now getting so beat up by monsters it feels like your whole body is broken is not very "having a good october" but listen... baz is good so simon had a good time. that's my official testimony


	2. apple scent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should also probably mention these aren't in chronological order of their school years, but there'll be some hints as to what year it is in the writing itself. anyway enjoy simon not knowing spells but knowing at least 30 apple dishes.

**Simon**

Why the first six weeks coming back to Watford are always the best:

**1\. It’s like waking up from a nightmare.** I can bask in the reassurance that this is real, that magic exists and my friends aren’t made up, that it’s not a hyperrealistic dream that just _feels_ like ten and a half months.

**2\. My friends.** They’re real, they’re here, and I can finally talk to them for the first time in weeks. Except for Penny, this is the third time she found a way to at least leave me a message. This time I remembered her saying “no way in Hel I’m not checking up on you after you fought a damn Chimera!”

**3\. The food.** I can’t say more than that, or I’ll get hungry and start salivating like a dog, and that’s a huge no-no in Miss Possibelf’s class.

**4\. Excitement all around**. Although I’m the only Normal-born here, and everyone else has grown up with magick and spent their holidays with it, they’re still excited to be back. It might be because of friends they’ve made here and finally get to see again (same), or the prospect of studying new, more challenging areas of magick (can’t relate), or the food ( _definitely_ me), but for whatever reason, _everyone_ is excited, the teachers and staff included. It’s basically magick on its own really, and it just fuels itself more and more, until it eventually almost tires itself out by the end of October. Almost.

**5\. Penny’s stories.** You’d think not that much can happen to a fourteen-year-old in six weeks over summer holidays, but that’s absolutely not the case when that fourteen-year-old has _magick_ and lives in a _magickal_ family. Apparently, enough happens to have two months worth of material to tell your best friend.

**6\. My own room and new clothes.** Okay, Baz and I do technically share it, but I try to avoid him whenever possible which is going quite well for me. At least I’m sharing it with only one other person, and don't need to share clothes with anyone. The uniform is still so perfectly tailored, and so new, and with it, I finally fit in somewhere. Even if I still don’t quite know how to tie a tie (although Baz does, the bastard, and makes fun of me for it).

**7\. Less worrying about Baz.** Since we, sadly, share a room, I can keep an eye on him plotting. He thinks he might be the shit, but it’s pretty clear when he’s up to something. The Chimera doesn’t count, that was reverse psychology. And he got himself caught in that trap too, so

**8\. Agatha is full of energy.** It’s not too fun for her, spending six consecutive weeks with her parents. I’m assuming at least, since she barely talks about it when we get back. She’d much rather hang out with us and talk and see Penny try new spells. I don’t mind, in fact, I really like to spend so much time with her, before we realise school is still school, and it’s not that much more exciting here than anywhere else. 

**9\. The Mage isn’t as busy.** So I get to see him for a bit before he has too much work. I think he’s getting even busier than in the 3 years prior, which is understandable, but… I still want to see and hear all that he has to show and tell me. Lectures and homework and classes aren’t really my thing, The Mage knows that. Suppose that’s why he let me keep the sword.

The class ends before I can get to number 10 (autumn, just in general), and I’m lucky enough to notice it before everyone’s left, so it doesn’t seem too obvious that I was daydreaming again. I think Miss Possibelf knows when I’m not listening, I’m not exactly the World of Mage’s greatest actor (although it would be fun to try act in a play or something), but she doesn’t punish me for it. Unless you count homework that you have no idea what’s it about as punishment, in which case I might have as well been on death row if it wasn’t for Penny.

It seems to be a (surprisingly) warm and sunny day for the middle of October, so once Agatha joins us, we decide to study on the Great Lawn before dinner. When we get there I can see Ebb in the distance—or rather, goats surrounding what is probably Ebb, spelling them to walk ‘round her in circles with just her pinky, I imagine. Too bad today’s the day I have to finally finish some essays I’ve been procrastinating for way too long, it’d be nice to spend what might be the last of good weather for the season with Ebb, watching her spell tens of animals like it’s nothing.

Minerva, I’m getting sidetracked again.

Our study date goes nicely, if not too long for my liking— and for my likings, dinner is ways above studying. Considering I fought a damn _C_ _himera_ just a few months ago, waiting a few hours to eat my heart out isn’t so bad, I kept telling myself. But we’re almost at the dining hall now, so I stop. Not just because I know I’m about to have the best dinner of my life yet (every single dinner is the best dinner of my life at Watford), and not just mentally. I physically stop because the most _amazing, wonderful, familiar_ smell is coming from the hall entrance, and I have to stop myself from crying when I can finally walk again and we enter:

_Apple pie with apple frosting, apple pecan spice cake, apple pancakes, apple fruit salad and apple chicken salad, apple broccoli salad and almond apple quinoa salad, stuffed baked apples, salted caramel apple butter bars, apple doughnuts, apple maple blondies, apple cobbler crisp, caramel apple cheesecake, apple cinnamon bread, apple turnovers, apple oatmeal cookies, cinnamon apple pie crepes, apple, bacon and goat’s cheese tarte tatin, apple souffles, picked apples with beetroot, apple and fennel slaw, apple sauce and apple remoulade, apple cider and apple juice, apple smoothies and apple compotes, with fresh and caramelised and toffee apples strewn between the many dishes._

My eyes keep jumping from one end of the table to the other, legs automatically taking me from one plate to the next, brain overwhelmed with choice yet unable to stop filling up my already very full tray of various dishes. I don’t even notice Baz staring at me with his signature cold glare, sitting with an empty plate while I dig into one of the many apple dishes. Why isn’t he eating? Is that why he’s staring at me so intensely that it makes me slow down on the various apple salads Cook Pritchard’s made? Get your own, ass. There’s enough for everyone.

My focus soon drifts away from him, and from everyone else for that matter, back onto the food. Agatha is slightly amused by my enthusiasm, Penny tries to talk to me a few times, but I either ignore her or she can’t understand me from my mouthful of apple pie, and cake, and cookies and blondies and… she ends up just generally talking out loud, although Agatha seems to be listening. Sometimes.

When I’m lying awake from a stomachache, I wonder why I reacted so strongly to the scent of apples. And how would an apple scone taste with tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a shot of water every time i say apple to reach your hydration goal by the end of this chapter  
> you will pry the idea of lucy basically having a tiny farm so dont you dare tell me there werent apple trees on a tiny british farm thats unrealistic FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS


	3. full of colours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soulmate au where everything is black and white until you and your soulmate first look each other in the eyes. all subsequent times when you look each other in the eyes you see every colour possible, like a mantis shrimp god

**Simon**

I’ve just come to Watford when the world exploded.

I don’t know how to describe it, to describe the feeling of everything being black and white for your whole life and then suddenly seeing all these _colours_ , when nobody warned you about it. I had no idea what that meant and afterwards felt too embarrassed to mention it to anyone, becoming friends with Penelope a bit too late to bring that up. So for eighteen years of my life, I didn’t know soulmates existed.

Penny had no words, and all the words to say at the same time. It first came out as sputtering, until she regained her composure. “ _Simon!_ How—why didn’t you _tell me!_ ” 

“How could I—” 

She cuts me off. “When did it happen? Where? Do you know who it is? No wait you probably don’t, okay, alright, do you remember who you were talking to?”

It takes me a moment to try and remember all these eight-year-old answers, and it’s obvious she thinks that a moment too long. “When I first came to Watford, when the Crucible was choosing our roommates. Um. I wasn’t talking to anyone, I was looking around to see who got pulled towards me, and then it happened. Almost crashed into Baz while looking at the green of the trees and orange of the fire.”

She doesn’t respond, as if her excitement got tired of waiting for me to finish talking and left. And she seemed… confused?

“Simon. Simon.” She puts her hands on my shoulders like I’m about to fall over and she’s holding me up. “This is _very_ important. You have to tell me. You have to remember. _Did you look anyone in the eyes right before the Colouring?_ ”

She’s kinda scaring me. “You’re kinda scaring me,” I tell her. “I don’t remember. Why is it such a big deal?”

Penny starts to say something, sighs while slumping her head down, and lets go of me. “Nevermind— I just remembered I have homework to do.” As she’s getting up to leave, we hear the first scream.

**Baz**

I can’t stop thinking about today's confrontation with the dragon.

How Simon's magic felt, how when he pushed it in me everything was _set on fire_ , the dragon redder than before, redder than I thought dragons could be.

I've known for a while Simon Snow was my unfortunate soulmate. I denied it for a few years, then questioned how it was possible (can soulmates be one-sided?) for a few more, and now I just… don't think about it. Passive denial, suppose you could say.

It doesn't help when he invites himself to sit on my bed once I return from my dinner and Bunce is gone, and asks to try that awful thing again. Awful for my cardiovascular health, though it’s probably too late to worry about that now.

"No. No way. Go to sleep Snow."

"Come on Baz," that bastard, "maybe we could use this to our advantage, to fight the Humdrum, to end the war...s."

"Since when is it 'our' advantage?" I try to sneer, but my chest is full and my head is empty and it comes out self-conscious

"We're on a truce, aren't we?" Might be just my imagination, but it doesn’t sound like he’s too sure of himself either.

I can feel him looking at me, but I refuse to reciprocate. Primarily because it'd feel too intimate, and I can't afterwards go back to trying to kiss _and_ kill him, and him trying to expose _and_ kill me. And also because so far he hasn't come forward as my soulmate, so he either doesn't know, and I would hate for him to find out right now _when he could easily summon his stupid sword and kill me_ , or he does and that’s precisely the reason we’ve been at each other’s throats ( _Crowley I shouldn’t be thinking about_ that _right now_ ) for seven years.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ignore his last question, because for whatever reason the idiot takes my silence as a sign that we can, indeed, try again, and takes my hand. “I’m—I’m going to push now, okay?” I whisper back an “Okay.”

Morgana, even when he’s giving just a little bit of his magic it feels magnificent. It’s almost overwhelming, a weaker mage surely would have gotten burnt even by this much (sorry Bunce), but for me, it’s a bright tingling and dizziness and a little bit like being drunk, just without the bad bits, only the good ones, magnified extremely in strength and pleasure.

He must have been calling me while I got lost in the feelings for a moment. “Baz? How do you feel? Baz?”

“Grand, Simon. I think I could move worlds.” His magic has me so disoriented that my reply comes out as a _laugh_ , and a genuine one at that. I’m still not looking at him.

“Show me.”

“ **Twinkle twinkle little star,** ” Our room falls apart, disintegrates, and all that’s around us is the night sky. “ **Up above the world so high!** ” No, not the night sky, we’re floating through the universe, _the actual universe_ , I can see galaxies and every individual star in them, comets flying by, supernovas in the midst of an explosion of every colour know and unknown to man. 

If Simon had a tail, it’d be wagging so madly it’d joined the comets by now.

“Fuck! Are we in space? How did you do that?”

My neck is straining from looking up for so long, and Snow is mesmerized as well. I don’t know what’s more mesmerizing, he, or what he’s doing. “No, I still— I still feel my bed underneath. I don’t think space actually looks like _this_ , ‘m probably just projecting what I’d hope it would.” That’s when I make the mistake of looking at him. I’m looking Simon Snow straight in the eyes, and he’s looking back.

I can’t actually _see_ what’s happening around us, because I can’t look away from the cornflower blue, but from my peripheral, I know the supernovas are fast-forwarding their explosions, in more colours than before, the stars are shining in millions of shades of white and orange and blue and red, the comets now the rainbows of outer space. I don’t even have the nerve to be terrified to be looking in my soulmate’s eyes for longer than a second for the first time in eight years. This is magnitudes better than when I first saw colour that night the Crucible gave me Simon Snow and destiny stole him away.

“Are you still doing this?” He whispers.

“Not quite,” I whisper back.

He’s silent. He’s still looking in my eyes. Searching, I realise, for something. Maybe he’s looking at the trillions of shades of grey like I’m enjoying the ocean and the sky and the blueberries in his. 

“Are you… you’re… Is this…?”

It feels like if I’m even the tiniest bit not almost completely quiet, we’ll join the supernovas. “Yeah,” I sigh, and his grip on my hands tightens. Now I’m feeling a little scared, if only because his face is blank except for the wide ( _and blue, like the Mediterranean sea_ ) eyes still staring back at me, and for my hands that are going numb from his continuous grip tightening.

I look down at them, trying not to think about us holding hands for what’s probably ten minutes by now, about seeing more colour in those ten minutes than most people ever get to see at age eighteen, about not being dead yet. Or, well. 

“Um, that hurts.”

“Right. Sorry.” He doesn’t actually let go fully. “Baz?” I hum in response and continue staring at our still joined hands.

“ **Baz**.”

It’s not even a spell, I don’t think. He just says it in such a way, I can’t help look up, above his left eye.

“Snow.”

Usually, I’d be over the moon at him being so quiet, but today it’s just stressful, it doesn’t suit him, he shouldn’t be so neutral in a situation like this, that’s _my_ thing.

He coughs, and there’s the awkward Snow I’ve come to know and love. “Uh, that was… Penny told me about a Colouring today. This was one, right?” He’s so unsure, I want to kiss him out of it, _you’re perfect, what are you unsure about, what could you be worried about?_

“The Colouring is just when you first see colour. There isn’t a name for the other times you look into their eyes.”

“You mean your soulmate’s eyes.” His confidence is a rollercoaster tonight, apparently. Maybe that’s what’s so attractive about him. I might kiss him, just so he can’t do _that_ to me, just so that I don’t have to talk to him about _this_.

“Right, Snow, we don’t have to—”

And then _he_ kisses _me._

_Simon Snow is kissing me._

Worst of all, the bastard has the guts, the damn nerve to do it so softly, so gently as if I’m about to fall apart. I don’t, okay, _I don’t_. Just a little bit.

My hands go to his cheeks, where I can finally touch the moles I’ve looked at so many times over the years of being in such close proximity that my fingers know exactly where they are, even if it is the first time they get to actually touch them, after three years of yearning, at least, for those dots on _Simon Snow’s face,_ I’m holding Simon Snow’s damned face and his hands are around my neck, holding me up. If it wasn’t for him, my head would’ve fallen straight off by now. Though I suppose he would be the reason for me not just metaphorically falling apart, so he sure as Hel _should_ be holding me.

Simon Snow is holding me. 

He’s basically hugging my waist now, while I scrunch up the fabric over his chest, my hands stuck between us, his grip tightening on me again. He’s not sharing his magic anymore, or at least not trying to, yet the places where he’s touching me are still on fire, head foggy, colours exploding behind my eyelids. 

I chase him when he pulls away, but he has more control over our position, holding me back. Holding me. _Crowley._ “You called me Simon.” My brain doesn’t register what he said straight away, and I laugh after a few seconds of staring blankly at him. 

“That’s what you interrupt me for, Snow?”

“You called me Simon.” He says more firmly, a smile growing, lifting three moles.

“No, I didn’t. You’re hearing things.”

Smiling, he puts a hand on my chest, right over my barely beating heart. “Oh really? Then am I hearing this— oh.”

Not wanting him to hear me laugh another time, I kiss his frown away, realising too late _that’s proof that’s undeniable proof I’m a vampire he’s going to kill me he’s going to run out right now and tell the Mage, I’m done for_ , but he kisses back with force this time, so for once in my life I just stop thinking and let it happen.

I think I’m okay with dying if I get to look Simon Snow, the Simon Snow that’s kissing me, in the eyes one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eye just stops looking like a word after you write and edit it so many times


	4. walks in the forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest one yet! hoping i'll be able to post more often now, i was looking for a job and couldn't stand the idea of writing anything after writing my cv for 3 days lol, thanks for being patient<3 even if i most likely won't finish this before the month's over

**Agatha**

Sometimes it just gets too much. The students, the teachers, the magic. Simon. Sometimes I just want, _need_ to get away from it, you know? Sure, it’s magickal here too, technically. But no one is casting spells. The spirits and dryads are as magickal as Normals; they have it in them, some more than others, but they don't control it. They don’t cast spells or judge you for not wanting to cast them. They don’t even talk about it, really. It’s not magic for them, it’s just… life. Normals use idioms and year-old sayings not to _use_ them, but just because they like them, they relate to them. Dryads hate talking about it altogether. We just sit on the moss and they show me firefly dances.

(That’s how I found out we only have two species of fireflies here, other than this one. No one knows about this kind though, not the Normals nor the mages. They made me promise not to tell anyone, and I did. Not like I would want to share this with anyone anyway. These wood outings are my own business, and no one else’s.)

Today Ealdwine showed me a “witch’s clearing” (an old-fashioned name for something like that, but I don’t tell her, she seemed too excited), which was further out into the Wavering Woods than I’m used to, but as long as Ealdwine is levitating ahead of me, I don’t feel scared. And I can feel there are others nearby, so if I did lose sight of her and got lost, some other dryad would come to get me. I just hope it wouldn’t be one I haven’t met yet. The Wavering Woods is quite big, so it’s almost for certain I haven’t yet met some of them. Are they of… darker energy, I wonder? These dryads live quite close to humans, despite their dislike of us. Maybe the ones further in live there because they _really_ hate us. Maybe not even my peaceful aura would be enough for them to not trap me in here forever until I grow over with bark and my hair turns into leaves.

That’s one of the myths for why the woods are “wavering”, actually. People that went too far, both literally and figuratively, angering the spirits and the dryads, so they turned into trees, and they’re still trying to escape. Shake the bark off. Rocking back and forth, creaking with regret and misery, howling for the families they left, centuries ago by now. Seems like a stupid theory to me, though. If a few people went in and never returned, why would more come and get turned into this huge forest over hundreds of years? Anyone with common sense would stay away after hearing rumours like that.

Ealdwine starts singing, and it takes me out of my head, which I’m grateful for. Though I don’t know if most people would call it singing, it’s more like a combination of wind whistling, chirping, insect chattering, and moss growing. I don’t know how I know that it partly sounds like moss growing, but I do. It’s like a loud version of a hyper-lapse of growing moss.

She stops only when we get to the clearing, and I see why the Normals would call it a witch’s. It’s a perfect circle, little less than 100 yards in diameter, with a tall pine tree perfectly in the middle. Something akin to straw grows here instead of grass like I’m used to, and as we walk towards the pine I can feel the ground is bumpy and covered in rocks. “Why are we here?” I ask Ealdwine. The sun is almost set, probably an hour until dusk, and then another hour before I’d need to cast a flashlight spell, which neither I nor Ealdwine wants.

“Just wait.” She sits underneath the pine and I follow suit. As I’m about to ask her how long we have to wait, I see the first one walk out from behind the tree into the darkening clearing.

**Simon**

I swear I’m not stalking her, it’s by pure coincidence that I see Agatha suspiciously look around before stepping foot into the Wavering Woods. I mean, what am I supposed to think? That she’s going to hang out with the wood spirits and foxes? I may be thick, but not _that_ thick.

And alright, maybe I was kinda, a little bit, checking up on Agatha for the past few days without her knowledge. Just because she seems down and won’t tell me what’s wrong! Not because I’m one of those creepy, obsessed boyfriends. Bet _Baz_ is like that, though.

So of course, I follow her in. Keeping just far enough that she doesn’t hear me snapping twigs, but from where I’m able to see her mop of blonde-white hair. It’s not stalking, it’s making sure your girlfriend isn’t going into the forest by herself to do something dangerous, and that there isn’t something or someone dangerous lurking around waiting to attack her. Without her knowledge. It’s not hurting her or anything. She won’t even know I ever did this.

We’ve been walking for something like 20 minutes before I notice something moving out of the corner of my eye. When I look around I don’t see anything, but a minute later it comes back. It happens a few more times, and I’m trying to ignore it, but I can’t help feeling like it’s playing with me, laughing at me for being so shit at whatever game it’s entertaining itself with at my expense. And it’s getting _closer_ into my field of vision, I can almost see it, but if I even just move my eyes I can’t catch it, and it’s making me slowly start to simmer. It’s not so bad that I can’t control it, but when the thing fucking _runs past me_ I don’t blame myself for calling for the Sword of Mages and whipping around to catch the damn thing. Almost shout out for it too, but before I do, I remember why I’m here. Wait. Where _is_ Agatha?

I turn back around, and again, and again. I do a full 360, but I don’t see Agatha, or the thing, or anything for that matter. Nothing except trees, which all look the same. Oh, bollocks. I’m lost. 

**Baz**

Snow, the idiot, sees his girlfriend enter the woods and like the plank he is, follows her in there. Is this a kinky thing, I wonder, or does she not know he’s following her? Seemed like she didn’t want anyone to see her going in there, and Snow wasn’t quick to follow, keeping his distance. Bit creepy, isn’t it, following your girlfriend without her knowledge when she clearly doesn’t want anyone to see. It’s just like him, though, to make stupid, impulsive decisions.

Well, since I’m done ridding the forest of squirrels for today, I uncharacteristically, moronically decide to follow the two lovebirds, _not_ for the prospect of it being a weird sex thing, since I’m sure it isn’t. Mostly sure. Unless it’s an unusual roleplay scenario and they’re _really_ getting into character.

Nothing happens for 20 minutes, they’re just… walking. Wellbelove clearly having a destination in mind, Simon keeping his eyes on her. Don’t blame me for wanting to spice this experience up a bit, they clearly need it if this is how they go about sexy roleplay.

Being a vampire isn’t just about drinking small mammals and being an abomination, it also entails superhuman sight, hearing, smell, and movement. Deciding to dunk, so to speak, a bit on Snow, I get just close enough that he can see me out of his peripheral, but not so close he knows it’s me. When he first turns his head, I’m a little slow to get out of his field of vision, but fortunately, he seems to write it off. A minute later I try again, ready this time to duck behind a tree, and by the third time, he seems properly cautious. So I get more daring, walking beside him instead of behind, keeping my distance of course. It’s quite fun, actually, watching his gaze as he tries to catch me with it instead of turning his head, and he’s starting to shimmer with his magic which is making me feel slightly drunk, and in turn, impulsive. Damned Snow, making me ill not just with cursed affection, but also with his moronic bravery.

I run past him, so quick I can’t be more than a blur to him, and to be frank, it doesn’t make me feel too good either, the squirrels will surely come up at some point. But for now, I hide behind a tree once more, watching his reaction, cautious not to peek too far out lest he notices me. He stops and spins in anger, searching for me, then spins some more, and stops, his confused profile perfectly visible from where I’m crouched. He’s stopped, looking into the trees with a furrowed brow, not moving. Why isn’t he doing something? Shouldn’t he be following his darling Wellbelove? Come to think of it, I can’t smell her sickly bland vanilla-oat scent anymore, which is curious, because there’s no way she could’ve walked so far since Snow and I have stopped. Either she fell through the ground, which is quite likely considering the setting, or she’s entered a magickal pocket that’s warded against unwanted visitors. Both Snow and I are quite unwanted in this forest, I suppose.

For whatever reason, he starts going left, which isn’t the direction in which Wellbelove was heading, nor where we came from. I quietly **Find my way around** myself, and as I was thinking, that is not where Simon is going. Damn Snow, if he gets lost and dies he will surely blame me in the afterlife, and he doesn’t even know I’m here. Trying to change the wrong direction he’s got himself walking in, I once again irritate him by getting in his peripheral, and when that doesn’t work, run across into the direction he should be going in, in hopes he’ll follow once more the thing that has been bothering him. He _does_ stop and glare in my direction, but doesn’t go there, just continues with a little more magic seeping off of him. Well, that’s annoying.

The Wavering Woods are huge in their own right, but they are wider than they are deep, and Snow is going exactly widthwise, just my luck. There’s not much else I can do to save him from the longest walk of his life, except actually walk up to him and say “Oh hey Snow, fancy meeting you here, I was actually just going back to Watford after a human evening stroll, which is over in that direction actually, but I’m sure you knew that already.” Or cast him right. Which is risky in and of itself, but maybe he won’t recognise it as my magic, or as magic at all. Anything can happen in the Wavering Woods, after all. And he _can_ be that stupid sometimes, I would know.

As I begin casting **Falling into place** , a voice behind me interrupts. “What are you doing, Basil?”

**Penny**

Don’t get me wrong, I think Simon has a point about Baz’s… antagonism. But he’s not _evil_ , when have you ever heard of a sixteen year-old being evil? They can be bullies, sure, and accidentally almost kill you once or thrice, but that doesn’t make them _evil_. We all make mistakes, and since Basil doesn’t make them in our classes, he’s bound to make them somewhere else.

Now that that’s out of the way, I swear there’s an explanation as to why I’m following Baz following Simon into the forest. First of all, I’m worried as to why Simon would be willingly going into the Wavering Woods, he hasn’t particularly liked them since our third year. Second of all, my gut was telling me something is off about Baz following him in there when Simon clearly isn’t aware of it. Is it a trap, perhaps? Is Baz actually… plotting?

So the reason as to why I’m following them is to prove Simon wrong once and for all that Baz isn’t, in fact, plotting anything, and he can _shut up about it now_. 

I cast **Blend in with the crowd** on myself just in case, which in a forest, unfortunately, only works if you’re standing still, but I should be fine if I don’t make too much noise. Baz is too preoccupied with pursuing Simon anyway, and Simon is too far away to hear me even if I talk loudly.

For the first 20 minutes, I’m correct, Baz is (mostly) absolutely harmless. I even think about going back, leaving them to it, not like Simon would need to protect himself if all Baz is doing is stalking him. (Not that it’s okay to do that, but I’m just saying Simon stalked him much more than this last year, it’s basically their version of cat and mouse at this point. Or bat and mouse, I guess. Though it’s hard to imagine Simon as a mouse, he’s more of a… boar, or badger. Or something a bit more manageable for a bat, like a weasel, or small otter perhaps?) 

I don’t, however, because I see Baz getting closer to Simon, keeping his distance at the same time, if that makes sense. And when Simon turns his head, he quickly, and I mean _quickly_ jumps out of view, which happens several times. I’m not worried, still, but I am curious now - so this really is a game of it mixed with hide and seek.

Magic is starting to radiate from Simon, not so much that it’ll affect me, but I still quicken my pace a bit, just in case, and that’s when Baz runs _in front_ of Simon, and I mean it when I say: Extremely. Quick.

Simon turns around, and I freeze, hoping he hasn’t seen me, which it doesn’t seem like since he keeps turning, looking for Baz. Does he know it’s him? Why hasn’t he said anything yet? He’d usually be shouting curses at Baz by now, Normal curses by the looks of just how much magic he’s giving off. Yet he doesn’t really do, or say anything, just looks around sadly, or frustrated, I can’t really tell from here, and starts walking left of where he was heading. Now, why in Morgana’s name would he have walked this far, just to take a 90-degree turn so suddenly? 

I’m about to walk after him and just lead him back to school, no matter what his reason for coming here is, when I see Baz do the very quick thing again. And he stops right in front of me, 20 yards at most between us, his back facing me. He takes out his wand, and… _Oh Minerva, he really is plotting! He’s currently in the process of plotting, right in front of me!_

“What are you doing, Basil?”

**Simon**

I hear a voice somewhere behind me, a voice that sounds a lot like Penny’s, but when I turn in the direction it was coming from, I only see more of the same tree, though one is growing shorter than the others and with weird branches, and a few yards on the ground in front of it is… Baz? The prick followed Agatha as well? Then the fucking _tree_ turns into _Penny_. What the fuck is happening? Am I seeing things after being in the Wavering Woods for so long? I run towards them.

“Penny! Baz!” He whips around from glaring at Penny to glare _and_ sneer at me. Classic. I growl back. “What… is going on here? Why are you both here? Also, Penny, how the _fuck_ did you turn into, or from, I guess, a _tree_?”

“Simon, you were right.” Baz and I both let out a ‘huh?’ of confusion. “Baz was following you for half an hour, and just now I caught him trying to cast on you!”

He seems to finally realise it’s not that comfortable, or clean, to be sitting on the mossy ground and stands up (his movements are so clean it’s like he’s _sliding_ ), dusting himself off in the most casual way. Git. “Bunce, I thought you were smarter than that, jumping to conclusions.”

It’s her turn to stare. “Jumping to conclusions? Were you not about to cast something, something foul on Simon after stalking him for half an hour?”

“I wasn’t _stalking_ him! And yes, I was about to cast—”

“Ha!” Penny points at him like she’s caught him.

“If you let me finish, Bunce, to cast _Falling into place_ on him because he was going the wrong direction to Watford.”

It’s starting to feel too much like two parents arguing over a child, over me, so I step into the conversation. Literally. “Why would you care if I went in the wrong direction? Too easy an end to me, want to kill me yourself?”

“I in fact _don’t_ care, Snow, thank you very much.” I mutter a ‘you’re welcome’ and he glares harder. “I knew you’d find a way to pin it on me for following Agatha, once you’ve returned to Watford after a week of squirrel diet.” I growl harder.

“You’re the one that _drinks_ them, Basil.”

“You really are thick, Snow.”

“Guys, stop it.” Penny interrupts before I begin calling for my sword. No anathema here. “Baz, what did you say about Agatha?”

“Snow stalked her in here.”

“You were clearly stalking her too!”

“Why would I stalk _her_ , you idiot.”

I want to ask what’s that supposed to mean, but Penny interrupts again. “Guys! Where is Agatha now? I didn’t see her anywhere.”

“Well… I don’t know. She just kinda disappeared when something distracted me—” I gasp. “It was _you_ , wasn’t it? _You_ were the dark thing in the corner of my eye! You were fucking messing with me!” I unsheathe my sword and point it at him, but Penny stands in front of him and _glares_ at _me_.

“Simon, what do you mean _disappeared_?” I lower my sword, feeling my ears grow hot from embarrassment.

“You know, like… poof?”

“ _Simon_ —”

“Don’t fret it, Bunce, she just walked through a ward that we weren’t welcome to.” Never thought I’d be thanking Baz for saving my life. Mentally, but still. He’s probably reading my mind anyway, being a vampire and all.

“Are you sure Basil?”

“Yes, yes, she’s a big girl, she can take care of herself. Now if you do mind, I have a bed to get to.” He starts walking away, except Penny says ‘wrong way’ and he shouts back an “I know!” before changing directions.

She looks back at me. “You shouldn’t be stalking your girlfriend, you know.” I lower my head, looking away in shame, and at that moment I feel like I’m the one 6 inches shorter, mentally as well. Although I always feel several inches shorter than Penny when it comes to being smart and morally right.

That’s how we end up taking a 30-minute walk through the Wavering Woods at dusk, with Baz in front of us. He could be walking faster, I think. If he moved that fast while he was messing with me, he could surely get ahead, he’d probably be asleep by the time I got to our room. But no, he just keeps his distance, not letting it get bigger nor smaller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agatha's story to be continued in a later chapter


	5. autumnal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: panic attacks

**Baz**

Hard as I might, I can’t resist the rising sun — it eventually wins with its unfair tactics of slowly cooking my skin, which I do admit feels nice compared to my cold-blooded tendencies. Not happy with this predicament, but also not wanting to move, I pull the covers over my face and let out a noise between a whine and a grunt. Why does Simon still bother to irritate me with his window and curtain opening? (What even _is_ the point of having curtains if you’re not going to close them for privacy’s, and mornings like these, sake?) He keeps saying he’s not, in fact, trying to irritate me, but I know otherwise. Git.

“Good morning, love.” I feel a sigh on my neck, and arms tugging me closer to his chest. Well, I can’t keep thinking violent thoughts at him now, can I? He kisses behind my ear, which makes me shiver and pull down the covers momentarily, quickly remembering why they were over me in the first place.

“Snow, why do you keep opening the windows? You know I hate it. You’re not even the one sleeping on the sunny side.”

“Mm,” he moans, still half asleep. “Why d’you keep callin’ me Snow, then?” Fair point.

I turn around, coming face to face to Simon with his eyes still closed, although he is trying (and failing) to keep them open so he can get a good look at me. Sometimes, in moments like this, I wonder what I did to deserve this. Surely being a vampire is one of, if not _the_ , highest sin on the list, with witchcraft high up there as well on Normals’ sin list. Do they even have a list for that? If they do, I wonder, what else they have on there.

He smiles, which brings me out of my head. “Why are you smiling?” I ask, which makes him smile even wider.

“You ‘ere thinkin’. ‘S cute.”

Even after seven years of being together, he can still make me blush with such simple phrases. Not that I blush now, considering I haven’t drank since the night before, which although isn’t good for my wellbeing, makes me grateful at the moment since Simon won’t get the satisfaction he was looking for with such a comment. Crowley, we really are still teenagers, aren’t we? Though he wasn’t calling me cute back then. More like an acute pain in his arse, not that he still doesn't— okay, time for coffee.

I kiss all the moles I can with half his face obstructed by the pillow, and throw the duvet off my half of the bed, careful that cold air doesn't hit Simon's legs and shock him into complete wakefulness. He's much easier to bear in the morning when he's docile like this.

The nasty, disgusting, _greedy_ cat that Simon is so in love with (no, I am _not_ jealous) is already there when I walk into the kitchen, meowing its hoarse, awful screech. Considering leaving it to starve to death (although at some point Simon would get up to feed it, unfortunately), I pour some dry food into its bowl. The reward of it shutting up, and making Simon happy, higher than the price of showing it the power it holds over me.

It rubs its head on my leg while I wait for the coffee machine to finish.

I pour myself a cup, leaving the pitcher on the hotplate for when someday Simon gets up. (It’s covered in cats.) (Simon thought he was being clever, but despite its major flaw, I do enjoy the size— almost half a litre.) I contemplate dunking the coffee in one go and getting back in bed with him, to bask in one of the only days we get to truly spend together, but I really do need to get some blood in me.

It does feel awkward, sometimes, having to occasionally go to the butcher’s. (Who’s a lovely man, never asks why we almost exclusively buy pig’s blood from him.) Especially when I’m swamped with work so Simon is the one who goes out to get it; especially when he’s also the one who prepares it all. Most of it goes in the freezer, which we had to get a separate of, because the one our refrigerator came with is absolutely incompetent, too stuffed with Simon’s other cooking experiments. Whenever we restock, he always makes bloody margaritas, laughing about it every single time. I mean it, _every single time_. Bloody Mary isn’t as funny however, for some reason. _“Doesn’t have the kick, you know, the spice.”_ I wonder if he knows that the blood I get from these drinks gets cancelled out by the alcohol, so I’m forced to drink double what I usually need. Though it’s worth it to see him laugh so hard he has to _actually_ excuse him to the bathroom, which in turn makes me lose it too.

As for actual sustaining meals, this time he made a blood soup from a video he found on YouTube. I don’t understand, and frankly, don’t want to understand Normal history and culture, but I listen regardless whenever he starts another tangent about otters being fish and turnip carving and kings with pencil thin moustaches. The stories are amusing, and his face lights up no less than when a star is about to explode. Truth be told, I’m just glad he finally found a learning method which works for him much better than a structured class environment ever did.

I’m on my last spoonful of the soup when I hear him come in, kiss the top of my head and mutter another, “Good morning.” He pours the rest of the coffee in his bat covered mug, adding two teaspoons of sugar, some of my almond creamer, and a generous splash of cherry syrup. Beat me at my own game.

You’d really think most people would find consuming pig’s blood horrifying, but not Simon. I still don’t know if he forces himself through invisible tears of pity to eat and drink these culinary escapades with me, or if he actually enjoys them. One time when I asked, he said he doesn’t really mind it, he’ll eat anything, and that he cooks to make me happy. I’m not sure if it does make me happy, in particular, but I do appreciate the gesture, especially since if it wasn’t for Simon and his flexible work and study schedule, I’d be drinking the stuff straight from the bag and eating microwaveable meals every night.

“So, I was thinking, how ‘bout we spend the day at the park? The weather looks nice.” He asks through a mouthful of blood soup, which I don’t find almost as appalling as I should. “We could do, like, a picnic?”

“With blood soup? I think we’d terrify the Normals.”

He rolls his eyes. “We don’t have just blood soup, you know. I also made tuna salad. Bring fruit, a bottle of rosé, get some pastries on the way there, y’know, make it a whole thing.”

“ _A whole thing_. Very eloquent, darling.”

Smiling, he kicks my leg under the table. “You’ve had time for the coffee to do its job. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You were awake.” I say.

“You know what I mean.”

“You looked like you needed the extra fifteen minutes, couldn’t even keep your eyes open, Snow.” He kicks me again, but doesn’t pull away this time.

“Well, yeah, because someone wanted to watch scary movies before bed, and couldn’t fall asleep afterwards unless I cuddled him.” This time I’m the one to knock his shin.

“I was merely trying to please your abNormal autumnal traditions, Snow.” I try to hide my smile in my coffee, but from his widening grin I know he saw it. I don’t mind.

“So, you want to please me, huh, Baz?”

Now that I’ve replenished my need for blood, my cheeks grow warm. I can’t tell if they’re visibly pink. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Snow.”

He laughs, and kisses my cheek, which isn’t quite comfortable for either of us since I’m still holding the cup up right to my face. “Maybe _you’re_ the one that should get his head out of it, I was talking strictly platonic.”

“It’s the middle of October, even if the weather does look nice, it’s probably too cold for a picnic.” I take a loud sip of coffee. “I saw a poster recently when I was driving to work, a pumpkin patch? We could do that. Pumpkins are a Halloween thing.” His eyes light up. Seven years. I can’t believe it.

“Yes!” He all but screams, hugging me briefly and kissing between my brows, just above my nose. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“You haven’t been to a pumpkin patch before?”

Simon looks down. It’s such a change in mood, my heart drops. “It’s a family thing, when you’re a kid. And pumpkin season is right when school starts, so. Don’t think the Mage would’ve let me go pick pumpkins with three ongoing three wars.”

I put a hand on his knee, which makes him look back up at me. “I’ve never been either, so this can be our first time together, alright darling?” He nods, and a smile is back on that gorgeous face, small, but better than the pitiable expression from a few seconds ago.

**Simon**

I can barely sit still the whole ride to the pumpkin patch. I never thought I'd actually get to go, for some reason. Just seemed like a thing you only do with family, whether with parents or your own kids, and I never imagined I'd live long enough to go with someone, and with Baz of all people. Reminds me of a graphic novel I read last autumn, about a guy and a girl working at a pumpkin patch and falling love. To be honest, I imagined myself and Baz in their places, if we were both Normal teenagers who get to work at something normal like a _pumpkin patch_. Although it's hard to imagine Baz as a Normal - both the vampire and the mage sides of him are just so... him. I couldn't imagine him any other way. Not that I would want to.

At first it was weird. I'd never judge him for being a vampire of course, especially considering the consequences under which he became one. But he himself just made it so weird, first by denying it for so long during our time at Watford, and then when we got together acting like it wasn't a big deal. I mean, it isn't, not really. But it is an integral part of his life, considering we go grocery shopping every other week for blood. You get used to it after a few years though. (I wonder what the butcher thinks. I don't think I look suspicious, but Baz on the other hand could very well pass as a very dedicated vampire cosplayer. The irony.)

"We're here." Baz parks the car in an almost full parking lot, or, er, field? It's not really a parking lot, more like a very wide dirt road acting like a parking lot. The cars are miraculously parked (mostly) in order.

There's a booth to get pumpkin picking equipment and to pay for parking and entrance fees. Says on the ticket that we can pick as many pumpkins as we can carry without additional equipment. Magic doesn't count as an equipment, right? Their fault for not specifying that **Up, up and away** ing pumpkins counts as additional equipment.

We walk through a stomped over path towards the pumpkins, and even from where we are, I can see orange peek through in some places - some places where there aren't _people_. I didn't know there would be so many people picking pumpkins on a weekend afternoon in the middle of October! Oh. Right.

"Are there even any pumpkins left for us?" Baz asks.

"I'll damn steal some if I have to."

He laughs. "Alright, calm down darling, I'm sure it won't have to get to that point." He offers his arm to mine, and I weave them together without looking. Baz says I'm making things up, but I swear we've almost evened out in height over the years. There's _maybe_ an inch and three quarters for me, or him, to go.

We get to the front of the main area of the patch, which is where most people are found, looking for the perfect lumpy, orange wonder of bland taste and wicked decoration. We walk around the perimeter, towards the back, and I think I hear Baz mutter a searching spell, but I don't hold him to it. And then I'm sure he used a spell, because with the most innocent look on his face he changes direction almost a full 180º, walks me forward a few meters, and quietly points to the biggest pumpkin leaf I've ever seen. (To be fair, it is my first time doing this.) I raise an eyebrow, or rather try to, since I've never been able to get mine to do like his can, but lift the leaf nonetheless.

It's the perfect lumpy, orange wonder of bland taste and wicked decoration.

"The spell really wasn't necessary though, love." I say.

"I have no idea what you're on about." Damn it, he's good.

I cut the pumpkin from its stem and lift it, must be a good three kilos, if not more. So of course I offer to drive it in the wheelbarrow myself (which is harder than it looks), while Baz picks out the rest of our carry-as-many-as-you-can pumpkins. The bastard really takes his time this round, walking in circles and checking the same spots multiple times, but I'm too stubborn to say anything. And anyway, it's fun getting to feel like a kid again, and reliving our stubbornness and mutual antagonism helps sell the fantasy.

Baz finally finds a pumpkin he's content with, so I put down the wheelbarrow I've been steering for what feels like hours, and cut the stem of this one. "You sure you don't need help?" He asks through a grin as I try to push the wheelbarrow through the dirt. (It's not quite a grin, actually, Baz never actually learned how to grin. His lip just curls like he's sneering from amusement, but I've come to learn it's an affectionate gesture and he doesn't, in fact, still hate my guts.) (Although I suppose he never really hated my guts, just that he couldn't call them his.) (Okay Simon, that's disgusting, stop it.) (Wait, does that mean every time he sneered at me in our student years, he was showing affection?)

"Aha!" Baz cheers, crouching down to cut another pumpkin. This one's small and has a lot of marks on it that resemble scars.

"Why are you getting this one?" I ask.

"You'll see." He grins and puts it atop the other two pumpkins. I want to argue about it, but he **Float like a feather** s the whole thing, which I’m still holding, and I cringe just a little. I still hate whenever he or Penny cast anything on, or even near me.

"Simon!" I hear someone shout behind me. _No. No way._

"Penny!" I yell, a bit high pitched, as I turn around and drop the handles to hug her. (More like try to suffocate.) (With love.) Well, I don't really drop them, since they're floating, but they will fall eventually if I don't hold them. I reluctantly step out of our hug and grab the comically-slowly falling wheelbarrow before any of the Normals notice. "What are you doing here? This is like, the opposite side of London."

"Oh, believe me, I know. I'm the one that had to drive Pip and their friends here. Said they googled it, and it was the best pumpkin patch that isn't a plane flight away, we _haaave_ to go here." I search the field for Pip with my gaze, and surely enough, there's the neon coloured mop of hair. Bright green, this time, just like Penny at their age. "Anyway, why are _you_ here?"

"Geez, I don't know, what do people go to pumpkin patches for, Bunce?" Baz says with an audible smile, standing up from where he was still crouching.

Penny's eyes widen and she grins. "Baz! I didn't see you there, you just blend in so well." He laughs and walks out from behind me to hug her as well. "Are you going to be carving for Hallow's Eve?" She asks with a nod to the pumpkins.

"We don't have anything planned for them yet, really." I reply for both of us. "Just kinda came up here on a whim. This is what adventurous looks like after early twenties like ours — picking pumpkins on a Saturday."

"I'd pick this over our second year of uni any time." She says, and we're all quiet for a moment, reminiscing.

Baz is the first to snap out of it. "So, Pip brought you here?"

Penny nods. "Yeah, they watched too much American TV over the summer and wouldn't shut up about Halloween this, pumpkin spice that. I told them, if not Samhain, at least call it Hallow's eve like Merlin intended. Called me cringe, can you imagine!"

"Careful, you're starting to sound like Mitali." I laugh.

"You know, every year I get older, I'm starting to believe she's right in more things than I initially thought."

That's when a head of bright green pops out from behind Penny and jumps up to hug Baz and I. "Uncle Baz! Uncle Snow!"

I look at Baz, then at Penny. "Are you serious? Since when have they started calling me Uncle _Snow_?" The two look away like a cartoon cliché, grinning. Baz whistles. Pip snickers into their hand and runs away with a "Good to see you again Uncle Snow, Uncle Baz!" when their friends call for them. From what I can see, it’s a girl with short red hair and a boy in black dungarees, who both laugh at something Pip says.

I look back at Penny. She's cut her hair to just below her chin, and the tips are dyed (or spelled) pink. I realise how much her eyes crinkle now at the corners from the permanent smile on her face, were they always like that?

Baz's shoulder brushes against mine and stays there. "Maybe we could go to the farm's cafe and catch up? You can probably leave the kids here; they should be fine."

"You either don't know how kids work, Baz, or wildly underestimate Pip." Her eyes crinkle further. "I'll help them cut some more pumpkins and then join you, alright? Go ahead." With that she jogs up to the three teenagers, hair bouncing from the lesser weight.

**Penelope**

The trio are whispering about something, shushing each other as I get closer. "What are you up to again? You do remember I know truth spells, right?"

"Doesn't mean you can use them!" Sami blows a raspberry at me, what a delight. I don't know why Pip is friends with him, _surely_ they've learnt from Simon's example not to make friends with the enemy.

"Doesn't mean I won't turn you lot around and drive you back to your parents. This is about you too, Pip." All three groan, and collectively moan a drawn out "Fine."

While I was gone, they cut some pumpkins themselves, which I'm about to lecture them about, but they run away looking for more before I can say anything else. Clever move, I suppose.

**Pip**

"What if we spell some into heads? With blood!"

TJ sighs. "No, Sami, Penelope _will_ find out and _will_ punish us. Or tell Headmistress, who will also punish us." Sami and I shudder.

"Well I saw Basil use spells, why can the grownups do it but not us? We're the ones who need the practice. It's not like we can accidentally kill a pumpkin if something goes wrong." He crosses his arms, a pout once again appearing on his face, despite him always insisting he doesn’t pout.

I put a hand on his shoulder so he'll look at me, and his burning yellow eyes soften to a familiar glow. "It's fine Sami. Maybe we could also take some smaller pumpkins so we have something to try transformation on, and others to carve?" Sami gives a sharp but light nod and doesn't say anything else. I take his hand in case he starts getting upset again, and TJ does the same.

**Simon**

I choose a seat at the darkest booth in the far corner of the spacious cafe, which despite its darkness is still lit up nicely with some candles and rustic lamps hanging from the high ceiling, made to mimic industrial styled cafes, but with wood instead. Reminds me of a medieval tavern from a fantasy show, or one of the pubs Baz and I still go to sometimes. Meanwhile, he’s gone to order something for us and Penny, kissing me on the cheek while I park the overflowing wheelbarrow.

He comes back with a chocolate croissant for himself, a cherry scone for me and a coffeecake for Penny. "They'll give us a shout when our drinks will be ready, about five minutes." He says as he puts the plates on the table and slides in next to me, close enough that our thighs and shoulders are pressed together. My head falls on his shoulder and I close my eyes.

"Tired?" He asks, and my affirmative moan comes out quieter and more like a whine than intended. I feel his fingertips first, gently sliding through mine, then holding them just as gingerly, rubbing his thumb against my knuckles. I can hear his foot tapping.

"What are you nervous about?" I ask.

"Not nervous. Excited." I don't push for more.

After a minute of us sitting, listening to other people's conversations (though the hall is so big, and the people so far away, it's no more than just white noise) rather than having our own, Baz mutters a "Sorry, just a second love," and slides away, like butter on a warm scone. I sit up. _Right. The coffee._

He comes back holding two cups, and Penny is putting a third on the table as she sits down on the other side of the booth. "Where'd you bury the bodies?" I ask her.

"Right where I can see them." She nods to some corner and I don't bother looking, the kids are close enough where I can hear them. I'm hoping that means there's no chance of them making too much of a mess. Back when me and Penny sat in dining halls eating baked goods and drinking tea, we sure made a mess. Not with the food, of course. I'd never let a plate get out of my sight with even the tiniest crumb left on there— the world is too cruel for such a fleetingly sweet crumb of a shortbread, or puff pastry, or scone.

I sip on, as Baz whispered to me while Penny was engrossed in telling us about her new awfully irritating pixie classmate, my tea blend of jasmine with a leaf of mint and single cherry fruit, which tastes nice, but isn't so comfortable to drink while your head is resting on someone. Naturally, I don't change my position at all in the two hours we sit in that barely lit-enough booth, all dark wooden bench and table, and our perfect (and imperfect) pumpkins as decor.

**Baz**

Simon fell asleep for real once we were back on the road, after our short two hours in the cafe (more of a rustic bistro, if you ask me) and another hour of trying to sneak more pumpkins out. Quite the **Nothing to see here!** Penelope and I managed. Although the warm curls on his head were true to their name, I'm glad this time he took to leaning against the window, all the less I have to spell the cars around us as we drive back home. (Believe me, it happens way too often for my liking.) (Well, sometimes my liking outweighs the risk of barely being able to focus on the road _and_ the spells.)

It's such a shame I eventually have to wake him up, but I don't think he'd forgive me for at least four days if I left him to sleep in the car, especially since it was barely dinner, though looking at the sky you'd think whatever you eat now is considered a midnight snack. Simon loves, _loves_ daylight, he and his cat have a lot in common in that regard, it's not rare to find them sunbathing together in the garden or on the sofa in the sunroom or on the floor, right in front of the doors leading to our patio. I, however, can't say I share the same passion for it. He lightly browns, caramelizes like the onions he cooks that smell _so good_ , which he laughs about every time I tell him they smell good. (Which to be fair, is every time he cooks onions, and that's quite often, considering _every_ Normal recipe includes them. I almost can't imagine our kitchen not smelling like them at this point. Garlic as well, which he still acts surprised about. And paprika, Simon loves to add paprika to _everything_ , he'll add it to tuna for Crowley's sake, the absolute weirdo.)

I'm not surprised to find he heads straight to the sofa, after pouring Ebb a heaping portion of cat food; thankfully, now the responsibility is off my shoulders. As much as I would like to join him, and it _would_ be a lovely night with my fiancé seeing as it's started to rain, and the roads near our cottage are devoid from noise, people already at their holiday (or regular) homes having supper and watching movies. Or whatever it is most people, most Normals do on a rainy Saturday night. It's what Simon and I do. (Though I very much do not consider us in the same category as Normals, thank you very much, I watch 1980s horror films, like a man of culture would.)

No, tonight is not a night for cuddling Simon, the cat can manage on its own. Tonight, is a night to create a monster from the fallen and decaying, which once was wonderful, which could have been something greater had it not fallen off.

**Simon**

Other than the rain pitter-pattering on the window above my head, I wake up to silence, both from the outside and inside. My phone wasn't in its usual place in my pocket, but it felt like I'd slept for... maybe two hours? I dunno, this time of year a full day feels like four hours of morning and twenty of night-time.

Eight in the evening is too late for Baz to be working from his computer (and there's none of the characteristic keyboard sounds coming from the office), and too early to start on his daily hour-long skincare routine (and the crack under the bathroom door isn't filled with light). Even Ebb isn't around, though she could just be taking a nightly stroll. Baz denies it, but he and Ebb are remarkably similar. Mysterious, independent. Crave my attention. Adore my cooking.

I realise then, there's a faint glow from the hallway, which is therefore most likely coming from the kitchen. Oh no. Is today one of our anniversaries and I not only forgot and fell asleep, but asked Baz to spend it on a _farm_? A farm full of dirt, and people, and drafty cafes with its theme all over the place? He did seem to enjoy it, but maybe it was just so I wouldn't get upset, I did really want to go to that pumpkin patch... Surely we're not again at the stage in our relationship where we can't be honest with each other about things like that, right? He tells me outright if he doesn't want to go with me to hang out with my Normal college friends, and I tell him if seeing his family more than once a month feels daunting. Surely this isn't a stuffy airplane with too little legroom and stale water and tiny bathrooms and _I can't breathe, where is he, where is Baz?_

"Darling? Simon!" He doesn't catch me in time as I fall my ass on the floor, face hidden in arms already hugging my knees. He floats down to the floor with me, his hands on my elbow and shoulder, rubbing and squeezing. "Simon, it's okay, you're safe, we're at home, it's only us, see, there's Ebb, she's- I'm right here, love." His hands are sliding around to hug me completely, I feel his breath tickle my ear. Remembering what every therapist told me, I focus on his breath. They didn't say exactly that, but how are you supposed to focus on your breath when you 're not completely sure whether you're breathing at all?

He's raking his fingers though my hair, so very softly, like I'm breaking apart. I don't think I am. In these moments, I understand how the Humdrum felt, how empty he felt and how everything around him felt so full, so full of something you don't have and never will, how it's taunting me by just existing, how I can't have what it does by the very definition of not being born like that, like normal people are. How I'm empty, and trying to suck everything into myself. I suck in a breath, and choke on the tears in the back of my throat. I think I can hear the wind wailing, our cottage _is_ pretty run down, or _cosy_ , as the estate agent put it. But we fixed the windows and the outside doors first thing when we moved, so it can't be. And I can't hear the rain. Had it stopped raining? How long have I been here? It feels like a second ago I was nothing, and now I'm expanding, filling everything up and exploding, burning everything in my path. Is Baz burning? He does so easily. Too easily, yet he went with me to the stupid pumpkin patch, in the stupid sun, which probably burnt his stupid skin. Stupid Penny for making us stay there, in that run down shithole of a cafe, stupid Pip and their friends for laughing and whispering, so loudly, they were whispering so loudly, and the cafe was so loud, and there were so many people. How many people are here?

From the speed at which Baz lifts my head, I think he almost breaks it. He could. He's strong enough, I've found out. He broke a vase once, when we were fighting. Not from throwing it— he was just holding it. I can't remember what the argument was about. I think it was something family related, or about the cat. Maybe it was when we just got her, and she wasn't litter trained yet.

"...Simon? Simon, love, darling, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?" I blink at him, and my breaths get shorter as I try to answer, to say something, his eyes are dark and I think they're wet. "Shh, shh, repeat after me love, breathe in," he slowly inhales, and I try to mirror him but mine is bumpy, though I'm good at the holding my breath for a few seconds part, and when I exhale, most of the explosions leave my body. We do that a few times, until he's no longer narrating our breaths, we're just breathing together.

Internally, my body feels empty right now, not like the Humdrum, but like you feel the evening after a party, when you've cleaned the mess up and it's uncanny how different a place can look with a mere twenty four hours difference.

Externally, my knees and arms and cheeks are wet, my nose is running, lungs burning after such a triathlon. My breathing is shallow, but steady. Like it can't muster up enough energy to be any deeper.

Baz smiles at me, but it's not really a smile, more like the opposite of a frown. You smile when you're happy, not when you're just not as unhappy as you were before. He touches my face, his cold palms contrasting against my burning cheeks, and I think when he hugs me again is when I'm finally back in our house. I can hear the rain, Ebb drinking from her water bowl, leaves rustling outside, Baz trying to hide the fact that he's crying. No, not crying, it’s just his breath catching slightly as tears come out, and I realise now my shoulder is a little wet, too. I hug him back. I'm a ball of electricity and he's touching me without a grounding point.

"I'm okay. Baz, I'm okay. Thank you." I whisper. We don't move. I let him suffocate me for a minute, maybe two. "Baz, I'm okay. My arse kinda hurts from the floorboard." There's no other sound I'd rather hear in that moment than his quiet laugh. It's short, and a bit dry, but he laughs nonetheless and peels himself away from me, like he doesn't trust me to hold after he glued me back together. He really did, glue me fixed. Not today, not in any single day. But in how when he sees there's nothing on my face as I lay in front of the TV, he shuts his laptop (I know he has a deadline in two days) and lays himself in front of me, putting my arms around him, and sometimes his hair restricts my view, and we don't move until the next morning.

He takes my hand when we're stood up and I've dusted my arse off. "Darling, um, I made you something while you were sleeping." His voice is scratchy, and I'm grateful he doesn't ask me to talk; mine probably sounds like gravel on a chalkboard. He leads me to the kitchen, which despite its size feels a lot more comfortable after the hallway. Or maybe that's just post-breakdown me speaking.

I finally find out what the warm glow was - a single pumpkin with a candle in it is stood on the table.

"You carved a _Zuko pumpkin for me_?" 

It comes out so quiet, I don't know how he was able to hear me just then, probably with his superhuman (supervampire?) hearing. When I look back at him, he's smiling. "He's your favourite."

With the hand that isn't entwined with Baz's, I reach out to touch the scars, and think about how stupid I was not to realise they're the perfect match to Zuko's from the show. "Can't believe you did this in two hours, babe. He looks so _good_ , like I'm looking at a screenshot."

"Simon," his tone makes me look back at him, expression neutral sans his single raised eyebrow, "it's past midnight."

"Uh. How long was I asleep for?"

"Six hours, darling."

I look back at the pumpkin. Now that he's said it, I do feel a bit hungry.

"Are you..." Baz clears his throat. "How have you been feeling, lately? I'm sorry if- I've been busy the past few weeks, so if I haven't- if I didn't- you know I love you, and you can come to me if you need anything?" I really don't want to talk about it. I notice a small Momo, a little bit to the side of Zuko. At least I think it's Momo, he's too tiny to tell for sure.

"I know. I love you too."

I pull him towards me, and our bodies curl up into each other like the ends of a paper script going back to how they're used to being, how they always were, always are and will be. I think he's playing a song in his head, because we end up swaying in some sort of rhythm, that I _know_ , but don't quite recognise. The candle looks like it's swaying with us, and for all I know, it's under the same spell as I am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the blood soup in question, in case anybody was wondering: youtube.com/watch?v=oqQzWg9pXmg  
> just as i decided to do writingtober 10 days into october, ive decided to do nanowrimo 10 days before november, lol. maybe ill finish this before december ends?


	6. 6. falling leaves

**Lucy**

No matter how much nature resists, eventually seasons change. Autumn replaces summer.

I never liked autumn. The days are too short, the coats are too heavy, the weather too dark. It forces you inside four suffocating walls as you try desperately to escape.

The best things always happen in the summer. It's when my parents told me I'd be going to Watford. It’s when I graduated. It's when we got married. It's when I had _you_. 

It's when I left. Oh, how I wish I didn't have to, you know that, right? I never would have left you. He said it must be done. He said we were the only ones who could do this, we would become myths, constellations would be named after us.

I loved him. I didn't really have a choice.

No matter how much you try, the young replace the old. 

The process, nonetheless, is beautiful. Like the setting sun setting ablaze the falling leaves in a hundred shades of flame.

Simon, can you hear me through the fire?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second lockdown lads lets get it


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